


Emotion is a virtue, for you it is the one fatal flaw

by zweitgeist



Category: Gilmore Girls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:49:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29890350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zweitgeist/pseuds/zweitgeist
Summary: On the eve of the Bangles concert, Paris wrestles with her character development





	Emotion is a virtue, for you it is the one fatal flaw

Paris Geller paced the length of her room, glaring at the various garments spread on her bed defying them to coalesce into an outfit. That was something she appreciated about Chilton-she never had to worry about fashion, like the apocryphal Einstein she could just grab a uniform and go. The only thing more aggravating than putting together an appropriate outfit for the Bangles concert she was suddenly going to was explaining to herself why it was so important to her.

Dejectedly, she straddled her computer chair, resting her head on her arms on the back. She had never had this much trouble before, at the fateful recent Chilton dance or at any of the social events her parents insisted she attend. Was the issue that she had never been to an unmanaged social event before? or was there something more? she huffed in irritation. Rory. Ever since the mousy brunette had appeared at Chilton, she had turned Paris’ world upside down. The worst thing about her was that she didn’t play the game. Paris had spent years honing her craft, the sharp barb, the subtle insult, the compliment with poison at its center. Out of seeming necessity, she had even acquired Madeline and Louise, a set of lackeys with which she had essentially nothing in common. All of this worked best, however, when plied against an equal opponent. Leveraging them against Rory was like fighting smoke; it made her feel like a two-dimensional antagonist in a poorly written teen drama. Her most recent attempt to outwit her erstwhile opponent had resulted in blabbing to all assembled that she was there with her cousin, having been unable to procure a date. That said cousin had blown her cover to Rory by asking her out only served to worsen the sting. She sighed, trying to puzzle out what brought her to her current predicament. 

She ran through the events of the last few days-the group project assignment, the rural backroads, the surprisingly large old house-seemingly too big for just the two Gilmores, certainly too big for someone who worked in hospitality. Lorelai, the surprisingly young mother. She had thought that this expedition into her foe’s stronghold would provide clues to her weaknesses, a glimpse behind what she was sure was a mask. However, everything, from her mother, to the piles of charity donations, to the platters of pop tarts had been distressingly genuine. She suspected that if she had gone into the nearby town, she would have found it to be even more aggressively folksy. She spun slowly in the chair. The invitation to the concert had been a surprise-were it from anyone else she would have been suspicious. In her earlier days, before experience had made her cynical, she had blithely blundered into her share of social events to which she was invited merely as a courtesy; the subsequent cold reception had quickly destroyed any pollyannaish conceptions she might have had about her place in the social order. Still though...it was exhausting to be on guard at all times. She could use a confidante with whom she could share her hopes and concerns without fear they would be used against her. Madeline and Louise were unlikely to turn against her, but they were equally unlikely to lend a supportive ear. Possibly they supported each other, acting as two hemispheres of a single mind, but generally they served as more of an accessory than a friend group-she wasn't always certain which one was which, or if that was even consistent.

She stood up, determination giving her expression an edge. In order to obtain the social rewards she desired, she would have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known. She looked at the clock: out of time already. She threw on her jacket over the clothes she had grabbed for the group project session, a few hours and a thousand years ago. Catching a last look at herself in the mirror, she attempted a smile-a real one, a true gesture of emotion rather than the carefully crafted mask she had perfected to use in Society, a smile that didn’t quite reach the eyes, kept carefully blank. This was different, however-weak from disuse, nervousness plainly visible in her eyes. But it was genuine at least, a reflection of the tiny flame of hope kindling in her chest, that she didn’t dare look at too closely lest it go out.

It was good enough.

It would have to be.


End file.
